enough money in the whole world that could be enough.”
“Lee, I can’t accept this.”
“You already have. The check itself is ceremonial. The funds have
already been deposited into a special account set up under your name.
Charles Tiedman–he’s the president of the San Francisco Federal Reserve
Bank–has already put together a team of top financial advisers to
invest the funds for you. All gratis. Tiedman was Lieberman’s closest
friend. He asked me to convey to you his sincerest condolences and
heartfelt thanks.”
The United States government had initially been reluctant to give the
reward to Sidney Archer. It had taken Lee Sawyer a full day with
congressional and White House representatives to make them change their
minds. Everyone was adamant that the full details of the deliberate
manipulation of America’s financial markets must not come out. Sawyer’s
less-than-subtle suggestion that he would join with Sidney Archer in
auctioning off the disk he had taken from Frank Hardy while on the cliff
in Maine to the highest bidder had caused them to abruptly change their
minds on the reward. That and his flinging a chair the length of the
attorney general’s off’ice.
“The funds are all tax-free,” he added. “You’re pretty much set for
life.”
Sidney wiped at her eyes and put the check back in the envelope.
Neither one of them said anything for several minutes. The fire popped
and crackled in the grate. Finally Sawyer looked at his watch and put
down the cup of cider. “It’s getting late. I’m sure you’ve got things
to do. And I’ve got some work back at the office.” He stood up.
“Don’t you ever take a break?”
“Not if I can help it. Besides, what else am I gonna do?”
She stood up too and before he could say good-bye she wrapped her arms
around his thick shoulders and pressed herself against him.
“Thank you.” He could barely hear the words, not that he needed to.
The sentiments were emanating from Sidney Archer like the warmth from
the fire. He put his arms around her, and for several minutes they
stood there in front of the flickering firelight holding each other as
the sounds of the carolers grew closer.
When they finally drew apart, Sawyer gently took her hand in his.
“I’ll always be there for you, Sidney. Always.”
“I know,” she finally said, her voice only a whisper.
As he started to the door, she called to him. “This friend of yours,
Lee… you might want to tell him it’s never too late.”
Driving down the street, Lee Sawyer spotted a full moon planted against
a clear black sky. He proceeded to hum quietly a Christmas carol of his
own. He wasn’t going back to the office. He’d go over and hassle Ray
Jackson for a while, play with his kids and maybe drink some eggnog with
his partner and his wife. Tomorrow he’d do some late shopping for
presents. Max out the old plastic and surprise his kids. What the
hell, it was Christmas. He unclipped the FBI badge from his belt and
took his pistol out of its holster. He laid them both on the seat next
to him. He allowed himself a weary smile as the sedan drifted down the
road. The next case was just going to have to wait.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The aircraft featured in the preceding pages, the Mariner L500, is
fictitious, although some of the general specifications noted in the
book are based on actual commercial airplanes. Given that
acknowledgment, aircraft enthusiasts may quickly point out that the
sabotage of Flight 3223 is rather far-fetched. My goal in writing this
book was not to prepare an instructional manual for deranged persons.
With respect to the Federal Reserve Board, suffice it to say the idea of
this country’s economic destiny being, in large measure, controlled by a
handful of people who meet in secrecy without much in the way of
supervision by anyone was irresistible to me from a storytelling point
of view. Truth be known, I’ve probably understated the Fed’s iron grip
on all our lives. To be fair, though, over the years, the Fed has
navigated this country’s economy extremely well through some very tough